


Let It Carry Us Somewhere Unreachable

by cold_feets



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_feets/pseuds/cold_feets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal slumps down on the table, resting his head on his folded arms, looking up at her with weary eyes.  He traces invisible patterns on the side of the water glass and starts humming to himself, and El just doesn’t even know what to do with him like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let It Carry Us Somewhere Unreachable

**Author's Note:**

> Set during "Vital Signs" (1.10).

El wakes in the night to noises in the living room. Beside her, Peter sleeps on, exhausted, and somewhere downstairs, probably no longer on the couch, is Neal Caffrey. Stoned. Peter had hauled him home, quite literally, dragging his loose and limp limbs over their doorstep and depositing him heavily on the couch, assuring her that Neal just needed to sleep it off.

From the sounds of things, that is not what’s happening.

She pulls on her bathrobe and quietly makes her way down the stairs. The living room is empty, save Satchmo curled up on the floor beside the couch, but the light is on in the kitchen, a shadow illuminated against the door.

"Sweetie?"

Neal stands in the middle of the kitchen, brow creased with confusion as he looks around like he can't remember where he is or how he got there.

“Neal?”

His eyes finally land on her, and he blinks. “Elizabeth?” His speech is still a little slurred, she notices. “Did I wake you up?"

"It's okay,” she says. And she’s only mildly surprised by how true that statement is, how concerned she is about this convicted criminal who is currently wandering around her house, drugged half out of his mind, and how making sure he’s all right is so much more important than sleep. “Did you need something?"

"I was just looking for-- for a--" But he squeezes his eyes shut in pain, hand clutching his forehead.

"Something for your head?"

Neal inhales sharply and nods.

“Have a seat. I’ll get it for you.” She guides him carefully to the table, one hand on his arm, the other on his back as he sways just a bit with each step, and once he's safely deposited in a chair, she goes back in the kitchen to get the pills and a glass of water.

"Peter stole those tapes for me,” Neal says without preamble when she sets them down in front of him on the table.

She slips into the chair beside him. "I know."

Neal slumps down on the table, resting his head on his folded arms, looking up at her with weary eyes. He traces invisible patterns on the side of the water glass and starts humming to himself, and El just doesn’t even know what to do with him like this.

"If anyone finds out, he'll be fired,” he says suddenly, his finger stilling against the glass. “It'd be my fault," he says, looking up at her. “If Peter got fired.”

He's still a little out of it, still a little wide-eyed and honest instead of the Neal who thinks just a bit too carefully about everything he says. And maybe it's just the headache, but he looks so worried that Elizabeth covers his hand with hers on the table.

"He knew exactly what he was doing when he took that tape. He knew that there could be consequences." And those consequences worry her if she dwells on them too long, but she trusts Peter. Doing the right thing and doing his job aren’t always one and the same these days.

Neal pushes himself back up in his seat, shaking his head. "I shouldn't even have been there. He shouldn't have come after me."

He frowns down at the table, and Elizabeth has to bite back a smile. "Honey, he's always gonna come after you. No matter where you go or what you do."

El made her peace with it long ago. And once she met Neal, she didn’t even mind it that much. She knows that she isn’t supposed to fall for the charm and the smiles, and she hasn’t. She sees the young man behind them who has nowhere else to go but her and Peter’s couch after going too far in an attempt to do some good. Sometimes, she thinks, being Neal Caffrey must not be as easy as he lets on.

He turns his hand in hers, closes his fingers around hers. “El, I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” she tells him. She squeezes his hand and slides the pills back in front of him. “Take these. You need to get some rest. Come on.”

He blinks at her, slow and heavy, and sighs, and a few moments later, she helps him back to the couch. He curls up to make himself small enough to fit, and he looks young and disheveled and vulnerable in a way he never allows himself to be.

“You need anything else?” she asks, covering him with the blanket. But Neal’s already starting to doze off, turning his nose into the pillow. She pushes his hair back from his face, and he sighs beneath her touch, closing his fingers around hers, clutching her hand loosely as he drifts into sleep. She means to return to bed, but she sits with him until the sun starts to peek through the curtains. She can't resist a few extra hours of him letting her take care of him before he wakes, more clear-headed, more closed off, and every bit as lost.


End file.
